


Gut Instinct

by Chibiness87



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, I must stop watching this film and do some actual work..., W.D. is a protective brother, W.D. likes Phillip really, i love these two so much, maybe later - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 12:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17203862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiness87/pseuds/Chibiness87
Summary: Self-preservation was never his strong suit





	Gut Instinct

**Gut instinct** , by **chibiness87**  
Rating: T  
Disclaimer: TGS is not mine. Nor are any of the albums masquerading as section titles. Or the lyrics I’ve included as, essentially, subheadings. (This is also not a song-fic.)

* * *

Eyes Wide, Tongue Tied

_[He] removed his hat_  
_In respect of her presence_  
 _Ghosts – Laura Marling_

She flies through the air towards him, and he is struck dumb. Her eyes sparkle, the light of the ring caught in their depths, reflecting glints of gold.

His hand comes up to remove his hat through muscle memory alone; years of being drilled about how it is rude to wear a hat in front of a lady.

But this is no mere lady. This is…

_She_ is…

He doesn’t even know.

Her eyes are like starlight, and her hair is like candy. The pink complementing her skin tone, while showing off the purple of her outfit.

The air feels dry suddenly, and he feels a swoop in his stomach that he’s pretty sure has nothing to do with the bottle of whiskey Barnum has just forced down his throat.

That, come to think of it, he, Phillip, paid for.

Dammit, just how drunk is he? And just what has he gotten himself into?

“Who is that?” The question is out before he can think, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. Barnum smirks, lands his hand on his shoulder slightly firmer than Phillip appreciates.

“C’mon,” Barnum says, “we’ll go meet them backstage.”

Like a lost puppy, Phillip obliges, blindly following the ringmaster through the twisting boards and walkways that make up the back of the circus. They get to the bottom of the stairs just as the brother and sister act are making their way from the ring. He shakes W.D.’s hand, but when he turns to her ( _Anne_ , he thinks _, her name is_ **_Anne_** ,) his hands have forgotten how to work.

This is quickly followed by his mouth, because, when she asks him what his act is, all he can manage is a stuttered reply.

Her smirk in reply doesn’t exactly help, either. Nor does the mocking hint in her tone when she says, “Everyone’s got an act.”

He sees her eyes flick over him, and for the first time he wonders what a woman sees when they look at him. He wonders what secrets she has managed to learn from a single glance alone. He turns his head on instinct, wanting so desperately to go after her, but his feet have joined the many appendages which have stopped working.

As she disappears from sight, his only thought is how he can stumble into her path again.

(W.D.’s fierce stare does nothing to dampen this desire.)

* * *

 A Night at the Opera

_And please say to me_   
_You’ll let me hold your hand_   
_I Want To Hold Your Hand – The Beatles_

He’s standing.

At the opera.

Standing at the back with the rest of the circus, hidden in the shadows where he has never been before.

And he regrets not a thing about it.

Standing here, listening to Jenny sing, and all he can hear is her.

Anne.

Her breathing, her weight shifting as she stands beside him. The brush of the material of her dress against her arms.

She is a siren, and he is helpless against her pull.

His hand shifts, fingers brushing, and she doesn’t pull away. If anything, her hand shifts slightly closer, her fingers splaying. It is the work of a moment for him to lace his hand into hers. And then there is silence.

All he can hear is the beat of his heart. He might be facing forwards but all he can see is the smallest tilt of Anne’s lips as he gently increases the pressure of his grip.

It’s bliss.

It’s heaven.

They are the only two people in the world, and nothing but nothing will make him give this up, not even if the walls of the room start to cave in and it a matter of life or…

His parents are here.

His parents, and their judging eyes, their whispered comments, and he will not put Anne through that. Will not subject Anne to the judgements of small minded people who cut him off the moment they realised the rumours of his association with P.T. Barnum was so much more than that.

He lets her go.

He lets her _go_. Doesn’t move from his stop when he releases her hand from his. Lets her leave the auditorium, lets her leave _him_. Lets her escape the judgements and the stares and the whispers.

He’s doing this for her.

(It’s only later, meeting her hurt but determined gaze thought the window of his office while she performs, that he realises that in letting her go to save her, he may have lost her anyway.)

* * *

 For Me, It’s You

_I don’t wanna feel what everybody feels_   
_I’ve got more to lose_   
_Everybody Wants A Little Something Good – Duke Special_

One minute he is stood with the most beautiful woman in the world on his arm, the next there is a tug and then she is gone.

But this time, it’s different. Because this time, he stands up. He makes a scene. Right there on the steps to the theatre, where any gossiping moron can overhear.

He knows where his place is in the world, and it isn't here.

Not without her.

Ignoring the calls of his parents, he hurries down the steps. Anne is nowhere to be seen, and he feels his chest tighten.

Tonight wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Pacing back and forth for a moment, he tries to sort his head. While he knows he could go to a bar and drown his sorrows, that isn't what he wants right now.

No. What he wants is Anne.

All he wants is Anne.

But Anne… isn't here.

Stopping, he forces himself to breathe. To think. Where would she go if…

He doesn’t even need to finish the thought. Ignoring the line of carriages, he starts jogging, quickening into a run when he finally spots the outline of the place he’s coming to think of as home.

Heaving the door open, he has to stop for a second, oxygen feeding his starving lungs. Shrugging out of his jacket helps, and he loosens his tie and top button. Feeling like he’s no longer about to pass out, he jogs towards the ring, only slowing once more when he sees her.

_They’re small-minded people_ , he tells her, before admitting to the one thing he’s known since the moment he saw her.

And for one glorious second, he thinks he has her convinced. For one beautiful moment, he believes they will make it out of this mess together.

And then she says no.

This time, when she walks away, he does not follow.

* * *

Conspiracy Of One

_I’m sorry ‘bout the attitude I need to give when I’m with you_  
_But no one else will take this shit from me_  
 _Long Day - Matchbox 20_

He can’t even look at her right now.

The anger and the rage and the hurt-pain-betrayal all warring within him. Even Lettie doesn’t dare break the silence.

But he is the ringmaster, dammit. He’s the guy in charge, the one everyone looks up to. He can’t afford to lose it, even when every instinct he has demands he do something.

Anything.

Anything to prevent him having to see her do that again.

Biting back his tone and his words, he nods at the rest of the troupe. “Good show, tonight,” he manages. He opens his mouth to say something more, but the words feel lodged in his throat.

So instead, he closes his jaw with a snap.

Turns and heads to the office.

His office, really.

The bottle of whiskey in the bottom drawer of P.T’s desk makes a satisfying smash against the wall. Shards of glass litter the floor, and the sudden pungent smell of liquor is almost enough to make him gag.

Almost.

Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell was she thinking?

He had turned at the cheer, watched from the side-lines with a smile on his face as the siblings flew through the sky. As he continued to watch, however, he realised this particular routine was new. While most nights they rotated through a reportage of various tricks and flicks, this combination was one he had never seen before. Normally they would show the rest of the troupe before taking their new work onto the bars. Get pointers from those that knew them best for anything which could be improved before letting the audience see.

But this?

Phillip is certain he has never seen this.

He definitely knows he’s never seen the next part.

Because suddenly, Anne was falling.

One second she’s reaching for her brother’s hands, and the next…

The next…

She _drops_.

Falling from the roof, the gasps of the crowd drowning out the sound of his own yell. He had started running, rushing towards the ring, his only thought to get to her, even though he knew, he _knew_ it’d be too late. He knew he’d watch her crash. Broken arms, broken legs, broken neck… each and every outcome flashing across his mind, even as he ran. His feet had made it to the edge of the benches, a demand on the tip of his tongue to make way, to let him through, goddammit, before his brain had caught up with his eyes.

She was…

She…

Fine.

She was _fine_.

Safe and secure in the arms of the strongest guys of the troupe.

It was all part of an act.

His heart was racing, fear gripping him, and for what?

For _what_?

“I thought you knew.”

He comes back to the present with a gasp. Head whipping up, he meets the intruder hovering by the door with a wide stare. “What?”

W.D. takes this as permission to enter. Giving the mess in the corner a long glance, he turns his gaze to Phillip.

“Anne said you knew. About the drop. I never would have agreed if I knew you didn’t.”

“Well,” Phillip pauses. Gives a bitter laugh. “Now I do.”

W.D. takes a step forward. Lets out a sigh. “You love her, don’t you?”

Phillip balks. “I…”

“I saw your face. Everyone else was focused on her, but I saw you. When you thought she was…” He trails off. Looks down. Away. Brows furrowed, as if he’s just realised something. Meeting Phillip's gaze once more, W.D. continues. “And she knows, doesn’t she?” When Phillip raises an eyebrow in question, he continues. “Anne. She knows you’re in love with her.”

At this, Phillip can only nod. Sigh. A sad, defeated sound, one filled with all the pain in his soul. Eyes focused on the floor, he gasps out, “Yeah.” He sniffs, fights back a tear. Looks up to the surprisingly understanding gaze of her brother. “She knows. She just…” He gives a heavy shrug.

The other man sighs. “I’m sorry. That she would do…” he waves his hand towards the door, but Phillip knows what he means regardless.

“It was a good stunt.” He takes a long breath. Closing his eyes for a moment, he lets the memory of the trick play out over his mind, ignoring the jolt of panic his heart still gives. Remembers the smile on her face as she jumped from the arms of those catching her. The light in her eye. A spark he would do anything to keep there, even if it means suffering a heart attack on a nightly basis. Opening his eyes, he sighs. “Keep it in.”

“Are you sure?”

Phillip nods. “Yeah.”

W.D. nods in return.

With a rueful look at the smashed bottle, Phillip groans. “Guess I better get this cleaned up.” 

Reading the obvious dismissal, W.D heads towards the door. He is almost out of earshot when Phillip calls him back. Voice soft, not quite meeting the other man’s eyes, Phillip asks, “Do one thing for me?”

“What’s that?”

Eyes wide, he knows W.D. can read the heartbreak all over his face when he all but begs, “Don’t let her go.”

W.D. looks at him for a long moment. “I won’t if you don’t.” Without waiting for a reply, he nods and leaves.

(The next night, watching Anne fall from the sky, he feels his heart lurch, and he feels slightly nauseous. But he’s been feeling that since the moment he met her; it’s about time he got used to it.)

* * *

 The Truth About Love

_They said if I burnt myself alive_  
_That you’d come running back._  
 _I’ll Sail This Ship Alone – The Beautiful South_

It takes them a few minutes to realise the building is on fire. It’s actually the braying of the terrified animals that alerts them, and then one of the thugs runs past, the smell of smoke not far behind. The remaining thugs take one look at the smoke beginning to billow, and run.

The troupe stare for a moment, fear freezing them all. But then it’s Phillip who runs towards the flames and the animals, yelling at everyone else to get out. Phillip who cuts the ties, who makes sure no beast will die because of the folly of man. Phillip who, returning to the now flaming ring of their home, slides his arm under Lettie’s, helping the woman to stagger from the increasing heat.

He’s exhausted. Strength fading. And then Barnum is there, panic and fear written over the older man’s face, and for the first time in weeks, in months, does Phillip think he might still care about them. “Is everyone out?” Barnum asks, and Phillip nods, all while performing an inner roll call. Lettie and Tom. Voltari and Cheng and Eng. The twins. Walter and Constantine. W.D and… and… He blinks. His eyes must be deceiving him. “W.D. Where’s Anne?” She’s out. She must be. She’s safe. She’s… dimly he’s aware of the call being echoed even as his eyes continue to search in vain- _where’s Anne, where’s Anne_ ; he doesn’t realise it’s his own panic on display for everyone to see.

It only takes a moment more for his eyes to meet W.D.’s, and he knows, he _knows_ , her brother’s panic is mirrored on his face.

She’s not here.

She’s not _here_.

She’s still inside.

No. No.No.Nonononono. God. Please. _No_.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t think. Just turns and runs and runs and runs. Lungs burning, the heat trying to push him back. Outside he can hear Barnum yell his name, but he can’t leave. He can’t. Not when Anne is still somewhere inside, caught among the heat and the flames and the smoke. His lungs are screaming, his eyes are burning, and it is only when he brushes his hand across his cheek does he realise he’s crying.

He can’t lose her like this.

He just… he _can’t_.

“Anne.” It comes out as a choked whisper.

And then a shout comes from behind him. “Phillip! She’s out.”

He turns. Barnum is there, jacket held out in front of him like a shield.

“What?”

Barnum waves his hand towards him. “She’s out. She’s with W.D.” He glances around. “C’mon. We need to leave.”

Phillip takes a hesitant step towards the older man, not quite daring to believe. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. C’mon, man. We gotta go.” And before he can move, Barnum leans over the remaining distance and grabs his arm. Pulls him towards the door. They only manage a step before there is a crashing noise, and Phillip doesn’t even stop to think. Just pushes Barnum away, even as a beam breaks, heading for his head.

The last thought he has before the darkness takes him is of her eyes as they met for the first time. The starlight he saw.

(When he wakes up in the hospital, her eyes are the first thing he sees.)

* * *

 

 End

Thoughts?


End file.
